


Held Fast

by SophiaOfTheSevenStorms



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Jon is an idiot, M/M, supernaturally induced altered states, this fic will get a rating next chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-22 07:27:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13759203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiaOfTheSevenStorms/pseuds/SophiaOfTheSevenStorms
Summary: He remembers a room, poorly lit and rarely warm, remembers the crackle of a tape recorder and sheaths of yellowing paper. He remembers reading the words on those papers, words that cut into him with every breath, pain and fear and grief that was not his own coursing through him.  This was normal, he was used to it but this time had been... different.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day Three of the Pilesofnonsense Pairings Week- Jon/Gerard. This first chapter was mostly written on my phone at 2am so apologies if it is terrible.

"Jonathan. _Jonathan_ , look at me," He blinks, fighting against the wave of nausea the action elicits. Everything around him is at once too sharp and too blurred, as if he can see the hum and spin of every individual atom making up the world. There are no patterns, no shapes he can latch on to. Where is he? Rain is falling and each drop hits his skin like a spark of electricity. Is he is outside?

"Jonathan. Please, _look at me_."

Someone... someone is talking to him. The voice sounds like a sunrise, like the first flower opening in spring or a ray of light passing through a shuttered window. He tries to reach out to catch it and feels himself falling. Vague memories of rushing winds and breathlessness freeze the air in his lungs but then strong hands catch him, holding him tight. His forehead rests against the shoulder of a leather jacket and he is safe. Has he ever known what safety was like, before that moment? Somehow he doubts it.

"... know it's hard, but you need to try and focus. You could lose yourself forever if you don't."

The voice is still talking, he realises. It flows over him like a freshwater spring, so lovely he thinks he could cry. Fingers brush against his cheek and he gasps at the shower of silver sparks the touch produces, tries to chase them with his eyes. Above him he thinks he hears laughter, warm as the sun.

"You really _are_ out of it, aren't you..." The voice murmurs.

A sigh. "Well, I doubt this will work, given how deep under you clearly are, but can you tell me how many statements you read, and over what period of time? Can you tell me that, Jonathan?"

_Statements_. The word sounds like static and gloom, like hunger and sorrow and the feeling of eyes on the back of his neck. He remembers a room, poorly lit and rarely warm, remembers the crackle of a tape recorder and sheaths of yellowing paper. He remembers reading the words on those papers, words that cut into him with every breath, pain and fear and grief that was not his own coursing through him. This was normal, he was used to it but this time had been... different. It'd been too much, too quickly and the words hadn't faded the way they'd always done before. There are corners of his mind still screaming, he realises, still trapped in the prison of those borrowed memories and he moans, hands reaching into empty air as he tries to reach towards the owner of the voice and the safety they promised.

" _Shhh_... it's okay. It's okay, Jonathan. I've got you."

"Statements... I... I remember..." Was that his voice? Like an old knife almost eaten away with rust. How awful.

"Yes? What do you remember?" The voice sounds excited. It tastes like fizzing sherbet on his tongue and it is almost enough to make him forget the screams.

"Too... many. H-hurts..."

A hand runs through his hair while another rubs circles into his back, just below his neck. It feels like home.

"Well done, Jonathan. You're doing so well. Can you tell me how many? I know it's hard to think about but it's really important."

_Can_ he? He isn't sure. He remembers reading statement after statement, pushing through the thickening fog of exhaustion, barely pausing to let the pain of the last one fade away before moving on to the next. Perhaps ten? Fifteen? There was so little time and so much he still didn't know. He couldn't afford to be so slow, he had to be stronger. But it seems that was impossible.

"Maybe f-fifteen?"

The voice curses, loudly. He cringes and it curses again, quieter this time.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. But, well... fifteen statements in one go is... a lot. This isn't going to be easy. I'd thought since you'd managed to find me, you must've been..."

Hands pulled him away from the warmth of the body he was curled up against, tilting his head up until he was looking into a pair of eyes deeper blue than he'd ever have thought possible. The face around them blurs and shifts like everything else he tries to look at but the eyes stay constant.

"Jonathan." The voice is so gentle he can barely stand it. "Can you tell me who you think I am?"

Who? He doesn't understand. The voice wasn't a who, it was safety and warmth and belonging without fear or condition, all the things he'd long since accepted he could never have. It was-

"...Home."

He hears a catch of breath. "Oh, Jonathan..."

There's sadness there, and more than a little fear. Picking out those emotions comes easy to him, like red threads in a dull tapestry. The eyes are still staring into him, sharp and bright and he drops his gaze, unable to bear the intensity.

"Come on now, none of that." Fingers tap lightly on his cheek and he drags his eyes upwards again. "You need to look at me, Jonathan. You need to come back to yourself and I think remembering who I am will help you with that. I know you know, you have to by now. So try, please, for me."

He tries. The spiralling mass of atoms and energy still dances around him but he anchors himself to those eyes, willing the rest of the world to be still, to make sense once more. The effort is exhausting and nauseating but just as he's sure he's about to pass out or throw up, some order emerges. He sees a figure before him, a pale face framed by unnaturally dark hair. A name pushes to the front of his mind and he almost gasps in delight.

"Gerard... Keay..."

Gerard Keay, who had fought the Lightless Flame and burnt Leitners to keep innocent people safe from their grip. Who saved strangers while on holiday and had once beaten up Jurgen Leitner. An angry goth with a monster for a mother, who had somehow become a guardian angel for those touched by the supernatural.

" _My_ Gerard," he whispers, his eyes closing as the world around him goes quiet and darkness closes in.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Jon wakes, he is lying in a bed in a dimly lit room. The world around him is clearer now but still crammed full with more detail than his brain can deal with and it only takes a few seconds before his head begins to ache at the sensory overload. He closes his eyes again, drawing in a shuddering breath. A warm hand squeezes his, calloused fingers rubbing gently across his skin.

When Jon wakes, he is lying in a bed in a dimly lit room. The world around him is clearer now but still crammed full with more detail than his brain can deal with and it only takes a few seconds before his head begins to ache at the sensory overload. He closes his eyes again, drawing in a shuddering breath. A warm hand squeezes his, calloused fingers rubbing gently across his skin.

"Good, you're awake. Can you hear me?" The voice is familiar, soft-spoken but slightly rough, a hint of South London coarseness beneath a polished middle class accent. He opens his eyes again, cautious this time. Gerard is sitting next to the bed, dressed in a black t-shirt emblazoned with the logo of some band Jon has never heard of and imagines he would probably hate. His blue eyes are wide with concern and he looks younger than Jon pictured, somehow.

He nods, regretting the action as vertigo rolls over him.

“Y-yes.” It is still so hard to talk.

“And do you remember me? Do you know who I am?”

“Gerard Keay,” Even as he says it, he can barely believe it. Gerard Keay was dead, he died of a brain tumour more than two years ago now. But here he was, vibrant and alive and holding his hand.

“That’s right….” He smiles suddenly, laughter lines creasing the corners of his eyes. “ _Your_ Gerard, I believe.”

Oh god. Had he really said that? Out loud? In front of Gerard Keay? Whatever supernatural entity was inevitably going to kill him might as well not bother now; he was pretty sure he was about to die from embarrassment right then and there.

“But you- you’re…”

“Dead?” Geard smiles as he says this but this time it doesn’t reach his eyes. “A… necessary lie, at the time. But it seems you were able to find me easily enough regardless.”

Flashes of memory come back to him, disjointed and incoherent, but enough. He remembers leaving the Institute, stumbling through the streets of London as night fell and rain poured down upon him, pulled like a magnet towards something he could not name but he knew would keep him safe. Remembers a voice, calling his name over and over again, like a spell, like a lantern guiding him home. Some part of him had known how to find Gerard, had guided him there when the rest of him could barely keep from falling apart. He doesn’t want to think what may have happened if it hadn’t.

Gerard sighs, nodding. “I know you don’t need to be told this, but what you did was… exceptionally stupid. If something in you hadn’t led you to me then you would almost certainly be lost by now,” He grimaces. “As it is, you’re not in the clear just yet. Things are going to get a lot worse for you before this is over.”

“But I feel...”

“So much better? That’s only a temporary reprieve,” Gerard sighs again, running a hand through his long hair. The movement exposes his left ear and Jon can see the glimmer of multiple piercings. He’d never much approved of pierced ears before, but now, on Gerard…

“You just went through the supernatural equivalent of a barely sublethal drug overdose. Now you’ve got to go through the withdrawal from that and it is not going to be fun.” He squeezes Jon’s hand.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be with you the whole time. You’re going to get through this.”

 

Ten minutes later, Jon understands exactly what Gerard meant. Pain crashes over him in ragged waves, the sharp stab of physical agony almost indistinguishable from the echoing screams inside his head. He is more exhausted than he can ever remember being but a sick, restless energy courses through his veins, making sleep impossible. He shivers and thrashes against the covers and sobs out Gerard’s name like a prayer.

“I’m here, Jonathan. I’m here. You’re going to be alright.”

Hands stroke over his face, pushing back his sweat-damp hair and brushing away tears he hadn’t realised he was crying. Gerard leans over him and his face is the only thing Jon can see. Jon reaches out to him with trembling fingers and Gerard catches his hand, pressing kisses into the scars on his palm and his wrists, each touch of his lips sending shockwaves across his skin. The need to be closer to Gerard is overwhelming, almost as intense as the pain raging through him and he tries to sit up only to collapse back down onto the pillow, keening like an injured dog at the pain the action causes.

“Jonathan,” Gerard says his name like a lantern cutting through fog and Jon stills. “Don’t try to move. You’ll hurt yourself.”

He’d hurt himself? But he is already hurting _so much_ , and Gerard’s presence is the only thing that seems to relieve it. How could he not try to reach for that?

“Please, Gerard… _please_ …”

“Okay then,” Gerard sighs. “Move over.”

He lies down on the bed next to Jon, gently turning him onto his side so they are facing each other, their foreheads almost touching. Gerard’s fingers card through the hair at the back of his head, drawing him into an embrace and Jon burrows his face into the crook of Gerard’s neck and screams as the foundations of his mind buckle and warp. He can feel Gerard’s pulse against his lips, can almost hear the steady rush of blood just beneath the skin. His hand clutches the back of Gerard’s t-shirt, twisting the fabric round and round. Gerard shines like a harbour light upon the dark sea of his consciousness, his warm arms slowly dragging Jon out of the freezing depths.

"Jonathan," Gerard whispers into his hair, his voice barely audible. “I want to try something I think will help but I need to know you're alright with it first.”

He would laugh at that, if he were able to. _Alright_ with it? What _wouldn’t_ he be alright with, if it would make this pain stop?

“I want to kiss you,” Gerard pauses, a note of something that sounded like embarrassment entering his voice. That couldn’t be right, of course. Not from Gerard Keay. “It’s not… I just think it would help. I don’t know if it’s just the physical presence of any other person or if there’s something about me in particular, but being close to you seems to be helping and if there’s anything we can do to increase that…”

_Yes yes yes… please, Gerard, I want you to, please_ … Jon tries to speak but all that comes out is a weak moan. He nods instead, face still curled against Gerard’s neck, willing him to understand. Whatever power it was that Gerard seemed to have against the hurricane within him is only part of it, if he is being honest with himself. He wants Gerard even without the desperate, unnatural need driving him into his arms, wants him in the simple, everyday kind of way that is so much more normal and ordinary than any supernatural force but so, _so_ much better.

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Gerard is so gentle as he pulls Jon away from his neck, shifting him until they are face to face once more. “But you have to tell me if things get too much for you, understood? I know talking is hard right now but I’m trusting you to let me know if this gets too much. Can you do that?”

“... yes.” The single word seems to take a lifetime of effort but it's worth it for the way that Gerard smiles at him. He cradles Jon’s head in one hand, his thumb resting loosely under Jon’s jaw as he leans in to kiss him.

Gerard’s lips touch his and it is as if he has entered the eye of a storm, a perfect moment of complete calm and stillness untouched by the chaos that rages around him. Jon gasps. His eyes close and his mouth falls open as he reaches up and buries his shaking hands in Gerard’s long hair, tasting his own tears on Gerard’s lips. Beneath that, Gerard tastes of peppermint and cheap cigarettes and it’s never been a taste Jon was especially fond of but in that moment he couldn’t imagine anything sweeter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, when I said this was one of the most gratuitous and self-indulgent things I've ever written, I really wasn't lying. Hope you guys still enjoyed it though! I'll try and get the next chapter up as soon as I can.


End file.
